Falling Frost
by fiesa
Summary: Nabi. Neither Jeokyeong nor Ryu-Sang, neither Harim nor Myo-Un like snow. It is a small similarity when the only life they knew is so far away they struggle to remember it. OneShot.


**Falling Frost**

_Summary: Nabi. Neither Jeokyeong nor Ryu-Sang, neither Harim nor Myo-Un like snow. It is a small similarity when the only life they knew is so far away they struggle to remember it. OneShot. _

_Warning: part spoilers, part AU. My take at the beginning of vol5._

_Set: directly after vol4_

_Disclaimer: Standards apply. _

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During the night, frost has fallen.

It still is winter, even though their stay in the House of Son almost made them forget. It's difficult to remember there is a world outside those high walls, the many pavilion and the ponds and bridges. Even more so since time and season don't seem to have effect onto people and nature alike inside the walls. It's an enclosed world, a universe of its own, in which flowers bloom whenever the Lady So-Ryu passes and the wind carries the scent of lotus at every time of the year.

The trees carry icicles like jewelry and the grass is frozen in crystalline shapes. Every step across it results in a crunching sound of breaking and soon Jeokyeong carefully watches his steps, unwilling to break the thin helms. It feels like a sacrilege. He was taught that every form of life is valuable. The camellias are withering in the cold morning air, having ventured out too early. The winter has been mild. Now it reclaims the world with icy breath and iron grip.

The little temple is a familiar sight by now.

Hidden beneath a wall of tall trees, standing lonely at the roadside, it attracts few unwanted guests and even fewer visitors. Fortunately, since it has become somewhat akin to a refuge for Jeokyeong by now. The first time he spent a night on the cold stone floor, though, he didn't feel as helpless as he does now. The first time he spent a night in this tiny roadside temple Ryu-Sang and Myo-Un were still with them. Now it is only Aru and him.

"Aru?"

The inside of the temple is empty. When he left, a little bundle of clothes had been piled up on the far side of the room, as close to the altar and as far from the entrance as possible. Aru had chosen their sleeping spot. Now, she was nowhere in sight.

"Aru, it's me."

A little head appears behind the altar, followed by a girl with wide, clear eyes. Aru looks like she might want to cry but then she has every reason to do so.

"Where did you go?"

"I went to the next village to buy some breakfast."

At the sight of the bread in his hands, she appears entirely. The unspoken reproof, though, remains in her eyes.

"I thought you had gone, too, like elder brother Ryu-Sang and elder sister Myo-Un."

She pads over, grabs his hand and pulls him towards the altar. The ribbon Myo-Un left for their dead family still lies there but the scent of incense has dissipated.

"They aren't gone, Aru. Ryu-Sang went to find elder sister Myo-Un. When he finds her, they will both come and get us."

Children's eyes watch him with an intensity that would scare him if he knew what it meant. As it is, Jeokyeong is only a child himself, mere fourteen years old, and he doesn't know the same hope is mirrored in his eyes. He smiles at Aru, trying to hide his own guilt and fear.

"Let's have some breakfast. And then we can explore our surroundings."

They haven't got much money left and they departed from the house of Son too hastily in order to take anything with them than what they already carried in their bags. It is a pitiful breakfast and it is held in silence. Not even Aru finds something to talk about. The wind blowing past the temple creates a howling sound. The room is cold. The stone floor is cold. But at least, they have a shelter.

"Look, elder brother Jeokyeong! Snow!"

Aru, her earlier depression forgotten, trudges over to the entrance and watches the silvery crystals fall. Jeokyeong gets up and rustles through his bags, then comes to stand behind her.

"You're right, it's snowing. You'd better put on this, too, Aru. Quick, take off your jacket."

Wrapping her into his spare shirt, he glances outside. _Snow._ It's the last thing they need.

Jeokyeong never really hated snow. As a child, he had enjoyed it, playing outside with Lady Sabu, building snow figures and making snow angels. He didn't even come to hate it when Ryu-Sang made him shovel snow the last winter at the temple, even though he had often emphasized it. Jeokyeong's dislike for snow was entirely new, created the instant he looked back onto his burning home and saw snow cover it like soft petals of cherry blossoms. That night, when he fled behind Myo-Un and Aru, Ryu-Sang's words still ringing clearly in his ears, he thought he had never seen anything as beautiful as the snow melting in Myo-Un's black hair, gleaming like diamonds. At the same time the snow was falling onto the corpses of people he had loved, covered the place he had lived in for years. It was beautiful but it was unmoving, still and cold and its beauty wasn't supposed to send all those people into the hereafter. He followed Myo-Un along on an invisible path only the young woman seemed to see, listened to her labored and yet tightly controlled breathing while she carried Aru along and hated the snow with every fiber of his being. After all, there was no one else he could blame for the destruction of his home and the snow was just as good as any reason.

"Elder brother?"

"Yes, Aru?"

"They will come back, won't they?"

Aru has leaned back against him and his arms wrap around her little figure protectively. The tears she does not cry lace her voice. Curiously, the little warmth she radiates has a calming effect on his nerves.

"They will," he promises her and himself. "We'll wait for them."

"However long it takes."

"Yes."

-v-

On the side of the wall she is standing on it is snowing.

White, cold flakes are falling, not enough to create a blanket of snow but enough to prick at her face and to needle her hands. Myo-Un hadn't had the time to grab a coat when she was forced to flee from the house of Son head over heels. She does not know whether Aru made it out unnoticed or what happened to Ryu-Sang and Jeokyeong at their return. She doesn't know whose words are ghosting through her head, repeating her escape route again and again. _Run straight on. Turn right. Cross the back gardens and keep to the left of the outer wall until you reach the little, dilapidated pavilion. _She doesn't know why she has tears in her eyes or why her heart beats in a way that has nothing to do with the heat of the run and the stress of her flight. She has outrun five grown, experienced warriors but she feels no pride. Insecurity nags at her insides as well as _the _question: _Why is Mumyeong here?_

Snow.

It's snowing outside, like the day she found him. Almost buried in the snow, almost frozen to death. She had saved him and he had caused the destruction of the temple in return. _That's not a coincidence. Our meeting hasn't been pure chance. _Not again, not this time. He has tried to kill her twice, has fought Ryu-Sang even more often.

Still, there is a link missing which she can't explain to herself now.

Snow.

Myo-Un doesn't hate snow. But there is nothing she actually _hates._ She refrains from using the word because thoughtless words have already cost her too much and Lady Sabu taught her never to put her heart into hating something because it meant giving up a part of herself. So no, Myo-Un doesn't hate snow. But she dislikes it, even fears it. Like darkness, snow is something threatening, something arcane. Long before she was able to explain the feeling of fear she felt when seeing it she knew something was wrong with it. She knew the word – _snow – _and she knew what it was. But she had never seen it before. How could that be? How could she know what it was if she hadn't seen it before? But at that time she had been a child and she hadn't known the meaning of the word _amnesia_ either. She just knew it was dangerous in a way she couldn't understand. Since then, she always has felt uneasy with it but she has learned to get along.

_I have to go back for Aru._

Her thoughts center back on what seems most important to her right now. Ryu-Sang can take care of himself, he has already proven it. She pushes away the memories of events in which he definitely hadn't taken care of himself _enough_ because there is no time for it. She has to get Aru before someone else finds her. If Mumyeong is here it means they aren't safe. _Aru_ isn't safe. Jeokyeong is with Ryu-Sang, at least.

Whom can she trust?

Should she find Hana and tell her someone was trying to kill her? _Or not to kill you but capture you, _a tiny voice in her head whispers. _One of them told the other not to kill you because their master wanted your head, right? But why? And why your head only?_ They had been talking about her specifically. But they had also been talking about another child, a boy or a girl, and…

_Don't trust anyone._

Ryu-Sang's voice suddenly echoes in her head so clearly she almost turns around to see whether he is standing behind her. He isn't, of course, but for a second she has the feeling he is watching her. Accessing her, as he always does, waiting for her to decide. Not judging, not commenting but only watching.

Myo-Un shakes off the feeling of being watched and starts walking towards the grounds she has just left. While continuing along she picks up speed until her feet are running at a pace that is comfortable to her. On the inside she thanks Lady Sabu for teaching her the art of running but her mind quickly flits back to Aru. _Where are you, Aru? Please be safe. _

_Make sure you're not seen._

Again, Ryu-Sang's voice accompanies her. Myo-Un speeds back to where she has left the little girl.

_You shouldn't have brought him into the temple._

She'll regret having done so for the rest of her life.

-v-

For the first time in his life, Ryu-Sang finds himself missing the snow.

The inner yards of the house of Son are huge, laced with walls, gardens, ponds and bridges. He spurts past them, trying to remain unseen while hiding in the shadows. The familiar weight of his sword at his side is reassuring. The burning anger only fuels his speed.

_Liar. Liar. Liar. _

Mumyeong is Harim Ju is Hana. How? He hasn't expected anything of it. Hana isn't even as tall as he is while Mumyeong reaches his height exactly. How has he accomplished the feat of turning into a girl so thoroughly? And how has he been able to deceive Ryu-Sang, in first place?

_Myo-Un._

She has brought him into their home, has opened the temple's doors for the man who ultimately would destroy everything they held dear. He knows she was at fault – and yet he doesn't blame her. He can't. Having seen the tears in her eyes while she still tried to smile has been enough to make him feel guiltier than ever. She blames herself most of all and he cannot bring himself to blame her even further. She is just like that – honest and kind and friendly and prepared to take in every stranger she finds half-frozen at the street's side. He cannot blame her for what she has done, even though it has caused the destruction of their home, the death of their loved ones and their current, helpless situation. But he can blame himself for not having been able to do more.

And he can blame the one that is truly responsible for all of this.

A cool wind caresses his heated face and he distinctly wonders through the haze of burning red. How can this be natural? It's March, not July, and yet Lotus is blooming with a hypnotizing scent. Ryu-Sang finds himself missing the snow he felt coming when he waited for Jeokyeong to finish with the portrait: the dry, cold air and the foreboding wind as well as the grey sky have told him snow would come. Back in the house of Son again the wind is cold and yet spring-filled and the clouds are small and white. It's wrong, entirely wrong. These grounds aren't a place for themselves but a twisted, too-beautiful-to-be-true version of paradise. The sound of birds singing of June seems _wrong_ in his ears. Even though he hates snow – it's cold and wet and, all in all, too _white – _he wishes for a second it would start to fall. Maybe this unreal world would wake up and start seeming alive, not frozen-in-time and almost-but-not-quite-death.

Snow never was something he got along with. Snow meant cold and sickness and hunger. Snow meant wet clothes and hurting hands and feet and freezing stones. Snow meant Sey-Dan falls asleep again and again, her golden hair a halo around her face, her thin voice whispering about stars and fire and _I'm so tired, brother._ Snow meant red blood and black hair and pale skin on a moonless night. Nothing good ever came from it and it still is a bearer of bad news. Myo-Un found Mumyeong the day it snowed the first time this year. Snow fell when they were attacked in the hostel. Snow covers the graves of the ones they love.

Snow means he is reminded on how cruel life is. And Ryu-Sang hates the thought because he cannot bear to fail again and again, every time losing the fight against fate.

_This time, he won't._

So many houses, so many pavilions. The house of Son is great and far more than simply rich. No ordinary man would built a world inside the world, would create such a place. Birds sing. Little streams gurgle; laugh softly while Lotus blossoms here and there. Ryu-Sang rounds two little buildings, almost runs into three warriors and barely manages to pull his sword before they charge him. He incapacitates one (he doesn't care how, he just feels one is down for good) quickly, wounds the next and is on the run before they can stop him. His breath is labored. He is a fighter, not a runner.

_Myo-Un._

Where is she? She is on the run herself. Chances of meeting her while they both move at high speed are almost zero but what else can he do. Three women with baskets full of laundry. They shriek as he passes them, no doubt alerting more warriors. Ryu-Sang is beyond caring.

_Myo-Un._

Three men follow her, panting heavily. They pass him without seeing him and Ryu-Sang adjusts his direction and speeds up.

"We've almost gotten her! Quick!"

"Don't kill her yet!"

Rounding a corner, his sword in a tight grip, Ryu-Sang hears a short, blood-curling scream and a sharp crack. He passes the next corner and the scene unfolds: one man has thrown himself onto Myo-Un while the other two have pulled their swords on her.

"Shut her up!" One of them demands. Myo-Un's next scream is stifled by a hand. She still kicks and lashes out, though, and for a second Ryu-Sang is hit by the surrealism of the scene.

"Outch! Goddamn bitch, she bit me!"

A slapping noise. Skin hits skin – rough and callused, hard from years of training, and pale and white and soft. Myo-Un whimpers as she finally lays still, her face slowly turning red where she has been hit. He sees every detail of the scene enfolding in front of his eyes as in slow-motion. The man grabs her hair and yanks her upright cruelly.

Everything turns red as Ryu-Sang snaps.

They need seven men to overwhelm him. Unfortunately, the pavilions, gardens and servants aren't the only things found in abundance in the house of Son.

-v-

"Liar."

It seems to be the worst curse Ryu-Sang knows.

"Dirty liar."

His voice is full of disdain but his face is bare of all expressions. "I knew we couldn't trust you. I knew all along."

Harim feels the hate prick at his consciousness. In a way, this hurts – hasn't he tried to make it easy for all of them? Hasn't he already once saved their lives? As Hana, he cared for them. As Mumyeong, he had to kill one of them. As Harim, he carries out orders. And as a human being he has long lost any emotions that might have enabled him to feel anything for the two prisoners kneeling in front of him.

He smiles.

"Straightforward as ever, Ryu-Sang. But loud-mouthing won't help you anymore, you know."

"Let us go."

"I'm sorry to say I cannot."

Myo-Un struggles to sit up.

"You are Harim Ju?" The question hangs in the air. Ryu-Sang snorts.

"He's a liar."

His blue eyes refuse to look at Harim. Myo-Un's dark brown eyes, though, never leave his face. But she doesn't say anything, either. Harim sighs on the inside and turns away. The captain of the house guard has still gripped his sword tightly. He has received a slash wound on his shoulder but refused to get treatment before he hadn't decided what to do with the prisoners. He steps forward. The point of his sword draws blood from marble-white skin. There is no fear on Myo-Un's face but Ryu-Sang growls and fights against the ropes that bind him and the three men that hold him.

"Watch it," the captain tells him coolly. "You might cause my hand to slip." Ryu-Sang stills. "Are you Hong Hayeong?" He asks Myo-Un. She doesn't cast her eyes down.

"I don't know this name."

"Are you the only heir of the Hong family?"

Another droplet of blood, startlingly red against her pale skin. "I cannot remember my parents. I don't know their names."

Which is as much a confession as saying Ryu-Sang is slightly short-tempered. The captain is not satisfied.

"Are you Hong Hayeong? Tell the truth or you'll feel my sword!"

Myo-Un closes her eyes.

"My name is Kim Myo-Un."

Harim could err but he thinks he sees a spark of pride on Ryu-Sang's face. It won't take them anywhere, though. They are still caught, still bound, and still won't escape. The master will see to it and he will see to it thoroughly. There is nothing left unfinished in the house of Son.

"The master will decide what to do with you," the captain says, grabs her by her hair again and pulls her upright cruelly. Again, Ryu-Sang attempts to fight. It is pathetic, Harim thinks, the way the blond pretends not to care about her. Why does he behave like that? Like Lady So-Ryu, Myo-Un has a samurai by her side day and night. Like Lady So-Ryu, she has grown up protected and loved. Like Lady So-Ryu, Myo-Un has carried a heavy burden from her young age. Why aren't they alike at all then?

"You."

Ryu-Sang's voice is cold.

"I will kill you."

The guards drag him from the room. Harim leans onto the railing and feels the cold wind in his face.

It smells like snow.

He is hit by the fact suddenly. Inside these grounds it has been spring since he can remember. The air is cool but fresh and calm, trees blossom against every reason and Lotus blooms as soon as the Lady passes. It's an enclosed world, this house. Seasons and time don't have any effect on it, not as long as the Lady remains close.

And yet it feels like it is going to snow.

What is the meaning of this? Has Lady So-Ryu left the house? It can't be. But still, it is true. His senses aren't deceiving him: frost is falling. The night slowly creeps up on them, colder and clearer than it has been in years. Already, the air smells different and the trees seem to shudder. Frost will freeze their leaves, will cripple their roots and break their branches. This world isn't prepared for winter and yet it seems to be falling, falling slowly and inexorably. A servant hurrying across the paved paths stops to glance at the moon. Full and silvery, it hangs in the night sky. She shudders and continues her way. So everyone feels it, Harim muses. But nobody knows what to make of it.

Frost is falling.

And life inside these walls is changing. Soon, it won't be the same anymore.

As if on cue, the person responsible for the strange weather crossed the nearest bridge. Lady So-Ryu always was beautiful and in the light of the moon her hair shone like molten silver. Won followed her, a silent shadow, almost invisible in the darkness.

"Lady, are you leaving this house?"

On hearing his voice, So-Ryu stopped dead. She didn't turn around, though. And she didn't answer. Instead, she tilted her head up and watched the sky.

"Do you think it will snow?"

"It's impolite to answer a question with a question."

Won, although she had to be used to their kind of exchange, shot him a murderous glance which made him smile. The Lady still didn't turn.

"It feels like it's going to snow."

Snow. Harim hated snow. He hated it with the same passion he hated So-Ryu. And he loved it with the same implicity he loved So-Ryu. What a twisted, warped soul he had, unable to live without her and yet never wanting to see her again.

"Will you still be here tomorrow?"

"Where else should I be?"

She continued on, without even as much as a smile for him. He smiled despite the bitterness that rose inside his chest.

Hana would be waiting for him to kill him, for sure she would.

-v-

"It seems like it will be snowing tonight."

Son Seok-Myeon stared out of the window, lost in his thoughts.

"It hasn't snowed on our grounds since the night the Hong Clan was vanquished."

Only silence answered. Clouds of steam rose from his pipe, curled in midair and dissipated.

"The last descendant of the Hong family is in my hand now. You succeeded in hiding her from me for the last seven years, but now I found her. And you won't be able to take her away another time, my old enemy.

I guess I have won. _Finally._"

The sightless eyes of Song Howol stared into the night lifelessly.

The next day, a thin blanket of snow covered the Son grounds.


End file.
